


Enchanted

by daring_elm



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Abusive Parent, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Queerplatonic Moxiety - Freeform, Secret dating, Trans Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, WARNINGS:, a good mix of fluff hurt/comfort and angst, but man are these idiots bad at keeping secrets, homo- and transphobia, injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-09-02 03:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20269315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daring_elm/pseuds/daring_elm
Summary: In late 16th century England, Prince Roman V is getting closer to the throne with each passing day- and his newest quest is finding a wife to rule alongside him. Problem is, he's gay.At a party he meets Logan, the duke of a small town in the south and is immediately enamoured with him. But their budding relationship can't be discovered, especially not by Roman's father, who seems more suspicious with each day Logan spends at the palace.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> welcome all, gather 'round, enjoy the tale of roman and his scandalous unprincely love life.  
despite having a profile for months, i've barely touched ao3 so i have no idea how anything works- please tell me about any formatting/tagging/similar errors so i can fix them!  
this has already been posted on tumblr (by yours truly, @daring-elm), and chapters will be uploaded there first 100% of the time, along with updates, other writing and general sanders stuff!  
also thanks to patchworkofstars for beta-reading this!! you're awesome :D

"...and for the love of God, _please_ behave." The king finished his speech, staring at his son, visibly exhausted. He sighed when he saw Roman gazing at the ceiling, not reacting to anything he listed. "What did I just say?"

Roman stared at him blankly. "Talk to people with kind words, use your inside voice, no drinking." He thought for a few seconds. "Find a nice girl. Preferably unwed, but if no one else wants me, wed can be arranged as well. Fornicate." He paused, waiting for his father to react to his choice of words. He was disappointed by the lack of emotion. "Don't mess up your bonds with the lower nobility."

"And?" The king lowered his face into his palm, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No kissing boys." Roman went a bit red; he hoped it wasn't visible under all this powder.

His father sighed. "I can't keep making excuses for you." Roman flinched at the sharp tone. _Excuses._ Of course it had been easier to excuse “messing around”, as his father called it, when Roman was still eleven, like the first time he had kissed a boy. Now he was seventeen, and deemed far too old to mess around, but old enough to pay for each excuse made for him in blood. Roman stared at the staff in the king's hand, ready to jump back if it was swung in his direction.

"I understand," he replied. He couldn't help but back up a few steps until he bumped into his sister's yard wide, mint green skirt.

She gave him a quick, forced smile. She was the only one, except for their father and Roman himself, who knew about Roman's history of "experiments" with other boys. She didn't judge him for it, though, and had patched up his wounds more than once.

Elisabeth (also known as Elisa, Lisa, Betty, Beth and, occasionally, Liz) was Roman's twin and would've been the perfect son. If she wasn't a girl. Aside from her know-it-all attitude, her sex seemed to be her only flaw and the only thing that kept her from being the chosen heir. Roman would've been happy to let her take over the throne; she would be a far better king than him. Sadly, it didn't work that way.

"I trust you won't make a fool of yourself.” The king didn't add an “and me”, but Roman knew he meant one.

“I won't,” Roman consoled him.

He had no intention of keeping that promise.

Roman threw open the doors of the ballroom, grinning as several heads turned his way. He glanced at his sister. Hopefully she was having just as great a time as he already was. Elisabeth didn't seem so happy about the attention that came with being the princess, though. She backed up, looking as if she was contemplating fleeing the room. “Betty, I need your help here!” Roman pleaded. If she left, he would be alone here, surrounded by strangers. It wasn't that he minded strangers, but it was still awkward to be in a room of people where everyone knew him, but he knew no one.

Elisabeth flinched when he said her name. Roman saw her lips move, but couldn't hear what she said. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She gave him another forced smile. “What do you need help with?”

Roman pointed at a woman about twice his age. “Who's that?” He didn't really care who she was, or which of the old men here she was married to, but he needed a reason for Elisabeth to stay with him. Although his face was a commonly seen one, very few people knew Elisabeth. Maybe she would be mistaken for his fiancée, then he wouldn't be approached by random women wanting to marry into the royal family.

Elisabeth rattled down the woman's name and title, along with a few facts about her husband and a snide remark about her turquoise and yellow dress. “_Hideous,_ those tulips…” She trailed off, staring at the spot the woman had stood a few seconds ago.

“I'll get us something to drink, okay?” Roman bumped into Elisabeth’s skirt.

She nodded, lost in thought.

Roman set off into the crowd and watched it part like the Red Sea. He frowned. That was the annoying part about being him, no one dared to be normal when he was around. As if he would have someone beheaded for speaking in his presence.

He walked up to a table loaded with wine and champagne. Reaching for the first glasses he could find, he turned around and crashed head first into a man in a midnight blue overcoat. The champagne flutes shattered on the floor.

The man turned around. When he recognised Roman, the annoyance on his face turned into fear. “Your- your royal- your Highness,” he stuttered. “I apologise, I- I'm deeply, deeply sorry.” He bowed, trembling.

Roman did his best to look calm, merciful and very prince-like when the man rose again. “You are forgiven.” He spoke in his deepest, manliest voice. One that cracked on the last syllable. _Damn._ Elisabeth probably would've laughed at him. She was always extraordinarily cheerful when this kind of thing happened to him, especially when Roman was trying to make an impression. Like right now.

The man relaxed a bit. His broad shoulders sagged, though he still maintained a good posture. He looked Roman up and down through thick-rimmed spectacles. Roman felt himself stand up straighter and suck in his stomach. The man bowed his head graciously. “Thank you, your Highness.” He turned around slowly, starting to walk away.

“Wait.” Roman reached out and grabbed his arm. He felt hard muscle under layers of velvet and silk.

“Yes, your Highness?” The man tensed. God, Roman wished he could be treated normally for once.

“What's your name?” That was a good start, right? Even if the man ended up disappearing somewhere- or fainting, he seemed rather close- Roman would have something to find him.

“Of Gainesville, your Highness. Duke Logan of Gainesville.” _Logan._ Over time, Roman had learned that titles were worth nothing, the given name described a person better than any “of and to” ever could. And Logan was a perfect name for the person in front of him.

“Pleased to meet you, I'm Roman.” He let go of the duke's arm and flashed him a grin.

Logan looked away, then back at Roman. His auburn eyes were still widened with fear, but Roman saw something soften in them. “I know, your Highness.”

“Roman,” Roman corrected.

“I know, Roman.” Logan smiled, though the smile was rather tense.

Roman took two new champagne flutes and handed one to Logan, then took a sip of his own. Never mind the no drinking rule. He was in a better mood when he was a bit tipsy, anyway. Maybe he would get to break some more rules this evening. “Is this your first time visiting our palace?”

Logan took a sip as well, although his was far smaller than the amount Roman drank. “Yes, your-” He shook his head softly. “Yes, Roman.”

“Would you like a tour?” Roman took another flute of champagne, this one was for Elisabeth. Well, around half of it was. She probably wouldn't mind a little less.

“I would love one.” Logan nipped at his drink again, then tried to conceal a grimace.

Roman smiled. “If champagne is too bitter, I'm sure a sweeter drink can be brought from the kitchens.” Badly concealed amusement shone through his voice. He emptied half of Elisabeth’s glass in a single sip.

“That's very kind, your- That's very kind, Roman, but this drink is already perfect.” Logan took a large gulp and almost gagged.

Roman couldn't stop a chuckle from leaving his mouth. “The kitchens will be our first stop.” He took a few steps towards the doors, then waited for Logan to follow him.

Logan set down his flute and followed Roman through the open path the crowd formed again.

Roman reached his sister, who was still in the same spot, frowning. “Lisa, if you keep making that face, it'll get stuck like that.” He handed her the mostly empty glass. “My sister,” he explained to Logan. Elisabeth flinched again. What was wrong with her?

Logan bowed. “It's an honour to meet you, your Highness.”

She curtsied quickly. “The honour is all mine.” God, both of them were so _formal._ Roman couldn't help but think they would be a perfect couple. Hopefully they wouldn't end up as one, though. If Elisabeth stole Logan away from him, he might just have to murder her.

“I'm showing him the palace,” Roman explained with a wide grin on his face.  
Elisabeth rolled her eyes. “Have fun.” Her tone couldn't have been drier. When Logan wasn't looking, she flicked her fan in the direction of their father's portrait. “Careful,” she mouthed.

Roman nodded. “Just a quick tour. After all, his Grace can't possibly stay here without having seen the east tower, now can he?”

Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Amazing spot for stargazing, especially this time of year,” Roman explained. He saw Logan’s eyes light up at the word _stargazing_ and his heart skipped. “I'll show you. Come along!”

Elisabeth smirked and turned around, facing the crowd again.

“Bye, Liz!” Roman held open the door for Logan, who looked unsure if he should walk through.

“Watch it,” Elisabeth mumbled, then walked off, probably to refill her glass. The no drinking rule didn't count for _her,_ of course. To be fair, Roman was far more lightweight than his sister. He was already feeling the glass and a half he drank, and this type of champagne wasn't all that alcoholic. He would know, after all, he had stolen enough of it.

Roman ended up leaving the room before Logan did, then held open the door on the other side. Logan bowed his head. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, your Grace.” Roman started to walk down the hall, his shoes clicking on the mosaic floor.

“Logan,” Logan corrected. _Goodness._ Roman felt like he could break into song. He glanced at his companion, whose lips were curled into the tiniest of smiles. Pink tinted his cheeks.

“Logan,” Roman repeated. He couldn't help but mumble the word “perfect”.

“Pardon?” Logan tilted his head to the side.

“Nothing.” Roman smiled. “We're here!”

The kitchens were busier than usual. Servants rushed around, preparing a feast, after all, the house was filled. When one of the younger boys saw Roman, he nearly dropped the stack of plates he was carrying. He set them down quickly. “Your Highness, what an honour.” He bowed. “What brings you here?”

Roman smiled. When he was that boy's age, he had hated being the prince. He had hated his lessons, having to sit around all day and listen to people he disliked talk when there were so many boys his age just downstairs in the kitchen to play with. Back then, he hadn't known why they were there. Now he was well aware of it. And while he couldn't exactly free the lot, he tried to be as kind as possible to them. “My friend here-” he waved Logan in- “was looking for a glass of the sweetest wine you have.”

“Of course, your Highness.” He bowed towards Roman. “Your- your Grace.” He stumbled over Logan's title, but bowed deeply nevertheless. “Right away.”

They stood in silence for a few minutes until the servant returned, holding a wine glass and a dusty bottle. He filled up the glass, then handed it to Logan.

Logan took it and nipped at the pale pink fluid. A wide smile spread on his face. “Thank you.”

Roman nodded. “That will be all,” he dismissed the servant, who bowed and picked up his plates again. “This way!” Roman headed towards the first staircase. There were two ways to get to the east tower, either through the library or along the hallway with the guest chambers. Roman decided on the latter. Maybe he could find out which room Logan was staying in.

He led Logan through the halls, pointing out details about portraits or mosaics now and then. He was just telling Logan about the bust of some Roman poet when they passed a row of guest rooms. “There's the room I was given.” Logan pointed at a door labelled “Chrysanthemum”. Roman's mother had convinced Father to name the guest rooms after flowers when the palace was built, years before Roman’s and Elisabeth’s birth. Roman liked the flower rooms, they were a small reminder that Mother used to be here once, that she hadn't fully left.

_Chrysanthemum._ He had to remember that. Roman smiled at Logan. “Just you?” he asked. The first of the risky questions.

Logan adjusted his spectacles. “Well, the invitation was technically for my father. But since he-” Logan cleared his throat. “Since he couldn't make it, it's just me.” He looked away, biting his lip.

Roman nodded solemnly, as if that was just the answer he was expecting. It wasn't. Since his father seemed to be a sore subject, Roman decided to ask Logan something else he was wondering about. “You’ve got a girl back home?” Roman already guessed the answer to be yes, that his chances of getting a kiss out of the handsome duke were in the negative. To his surprise, Logan shook his head.

“I don't.” He stared at a vase in the window. “Not yet, anyway,” he added in a bitter, almost angry voice. Roman couldn't tell if that bitterness came from the idea of having a girl or the fact that he didn't have one. If it was the latter, maybe Roman could arrange something with Elisabeth after all. He was sure Father would approve of Logan, at least for his daughter. Unless she was already promised to some foreign king. Roman might have to rethink that idea.

A new question came to his mind, one that he probably wouldn't have asked if he were sober. “Do you even want one?”

“I beg your pardon?” Logan took a step back, crossing the arm that wasn't holding his wine glass in front of his stomach. His eyes widened and shone with what Roman believed to be fear. From what Roman could see in the dim lighting, he was blushing. Roman wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign. Probably a bad one.

“I- I mean, do you plan on getting married. Eventually.” Roman made a gesture as if he was shoving away what he had just said.

“Oh.” Logan took another sip of wine. “I'm not sure, to be honest.” He shuddered. “I definitely should, right? But it wouldn't feel right.” Logan was a lot more open all of a sudden. Was it the drink? What he had was even weaker than the champagne.

Roman smiled. “I understand.” He couldn't imagine getting married, being bound to some woman, or some young girl, more likely, for eternity.

Logan muttered something like “I don't think you do.” And maybe Roman didn't. Maybe he was misunderstanding. Maybe Roman was the only way that felt the way he did about men. Maybe Father was right and that… that desire was sin. Roman was cursed. Cursed to never find love, after all, the only love he wanted was unholy. Disgusting.

Roman needed another drink.

“Is this the tower?” Logan interrupted Roman's thoughts. Roman jumped and turned to look at the staircase Logan was looking at. One that did, in fact, lead to the east tower.

“Yes, that's the one.” Roman smiled. “Right this way.” He beckoned for Logan to follow him.

By the time they reached the top of the tower, Roman was clinging to the handrail and panting like his stepmother’s stupid pug. Though he would've liked to call himself an athletic person, he had the endurance of a dying chicken (not a healthy one, Roman had made contact with healthy chickens and the endurance and undiluted rage they possessed when he was still a child). Logan, on the other hand, seemed barely out of breath. He rushed to the open window, gazing at the view from where they stood. The way his face shone with excitement made Roman feel even more breathless. Roman managed to pry himself off the handrail and collapse on the window seat instead.

“It's beautiful,” Logan mumbled. Roman turned his head and caught a glimpse of the night. It was almost clear, with few wispy clouds just above the treetops. A half moon illuminated the indigo sky along with thousands of stars.

Despite the beauty of the sky, Roman couldn't help but stare at Logan, who seemed as excited as a child visiting a festival for the first time. Faint freckles were dotted along his cheeks and nose, looking just like the stars Logan was so fond of. His eyes were almost bottle-green in this light, rather than the warm brown Roman had seen in in the ballroom. “It is.” Roman grinned. He looked back at the sky.

“There, you can finally see Taurus.” Logan pointed at a row of dots somewhere to his left. His shoulder brushed against Roman's.

“Huh?” Roman leaned closer to Logan, squinting at the patch of stars.

“Right there.” Logan set down his wine glass and moved behind Roman, laying his hands on Roman's shoulders and nudging him to the side. “See, there are the horns, that part there is the snout.” He pointed at a couple of brighter stars over Roman's shoulder.

Roman hummed in response. He still couldn't really see the constellation, but Logan's enthusiasm was contagious. He let Logan explain the images Roman was supposed to see in the sky, despite all of them looking like specks of dust, every single one like the other.

“And there, that one's Pegasus.” Logan nudged Roman to the right, hitting a bruise on his left arm. Roman tried not to wince, to just ignore the pain and focus on the stars again. Logan must've noticed Roman tensing, though, because he let go almost immediately.

“Oh, there!” Roman pretended to see the constellation, trying to destroy the tension his reaction created.

Logan shook his head and sat down next to Roman again. “Thank you for bringing me here.” He smiled.

“My pleasure.” God, Roman wanted to kiss him. He absolutely would've, too, if Logan hadn't stood up before Roman could lean in. It was probably for the better, Roman wasn't thinking straight.

Logan held his hand in front of his mouth, doing his best to suppress a yawn, with minor success. “It really was an honour to meet you.”

Roman shook his head. “The honour is all mine.” He paused. “I assume you're going to bed now?” He hated that this was unravelling so quickly, he could've sat there and stared at the stars for hours, as long as Logan was with him.

Logan nodded.

“You can find the way back to your room?” Roman stood up as well. There was no way he was going to sleep yet, but he still had a few bottles in his bedroom that needed emptying.

Logan nodded again. “Goodnight, your Highness.”

_Oh._ Roman almost flinched back; being reduced to his title again stung. “Goodnight, your Grace.”

Logan waved and started to make his way down the stairs, leaving Roman alone, staring out of the window at the area where he should've seen Pegasus when Logan tried to show him.


	2. Chapter 2

Logan paced around his room like a tiger trapped in a cage, muttering to himself.  
“Not real, not real, _can't_ be real…”

But it _was_ real, wasn't it? There was no other explanation for what he just experienced.  
The prince of England.

Logan had met the prince of England. Logan had met the prince of England and he was _beautiful_ and so kind and…

Logan didn't know how to cope with his feelings. At all. Which is why he faked fatigue, to hide from Roman, from the _prince of England_ and clear his mind.

But his mind wasn’t ready for clarity just yet.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he set his eyeglasses on the table he was pacing around. The bell tower struck two. Logan jumped at the sudden noise, then groaned quietly. He needed to get to bed soon. If he was in bed, sleep might come and banish his thoughts into the subconscious where they belonged.

Logan unbuttoned his jacket and the first layer of shirts, tossing them on one of his suitcases in an uncharacteristically careless manner. It was finally cold enough outside that dressing for parties didn’t feel like torture (though being at said parties still wasn’t exactly his favourite pastime; he preferred meeting people one on one in a space with less noise, less alcohol and less perfume in the air).

He sat down on his bed, unbuttoning the next layer. He didn't have to look at his hands to do so anymore (even though the tiny buttons were awful to deal with; Logan had torn off his fair share of those), so he ended up looking around the room, gazing at the paintings on the wall before focusing on a still life of a messy tea table. _Strange, how people could draw their disorder, frame it, hang it on a wall and call it art._

A knock on the door tore him out of his thoughts. Who wanted to speak to him at this ungodly hour?

Logan stood up, cringing as the floorboards groaned under his weight. He opened the door.

Prince Roman stumbled in and fell against Logan, the biting scent of alcohol coating him. How had he even made it here? Logan caught the drunk prince and sat him down on the nearest flat surface he could see, which ended up being his bed. “To what do I owe the honor, your Highness?” he asked.

Roman hiccupped. He froze for a second, seemingly shocked by the noise that left his mouth. “Was thinking about you.” He grinned. “Y'know, you look different without those…” He waved a hand in front of his eyes.

“Spectacles?” Logan tried to help out.

“Yes, those. Without those o-” Roman hiccuped again. “Without those on. You know why?” His speech was slurred the tiniest bit.

“No, why?” Logan attempted to hide his amusement at the prince’s state. But he didn't think Roman would've noticed his grin, even if he hadn’t tried to conceal it.

“They reflect,” Roman stated, swelling with pride. “When they re- reflect, your eyes go away. A shame, really, because they're so pretty.”

“Oh?” Logan felt his face heat up.

Roman nodded, still looking very pleased with himself. “They change colour. In the ballroom, they were still brown, but when we were in the- the tower, they were green.” 

Roman gasped and hiccuped. “Are you a wizard?”

“What? No, of course not.” Logan furrowed his brow. Maybe it would be best to get his royal Highness back to his chambers and let him sober up a bit.

Roman giggled. “Good, because I don't like wizards much.” He gazed into Logan's eyes. “But I'd probably make an exception for you. Just ‘cause you're so smart.”

Logan hummed in response. He wasn't sure what to make of the whole situation.

“It was so nice of you to show me the constellations.” The last word was slurred completely; Logan had trouble making it out. “Sorry I didn't see them. But you're still a great teacher.”

“Thank you.” Logan decided to sit down as well. He pushed his spectacles to the side and sat on the table next to them.

“But it's no big surprise you know so much about the stars, after all, you always have them with you.” Roman laughed and poked Logan's cheek.

Logan's hand brushed along his face where Roman had touched it. “You mean my…” He trailed off.

“Those adorable freckles, yes!” Roman erupted into even more giggles. Logan's face flushed; the hint of pink from before turned into burning red.

“Thank you, your- your Highness.” Logan let his hand sink into his lap again.

Roman pouted. “Don't call me that.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause it's so formal.” Roman sighed dramatically. “I don't want to be formal around you, I like you too much for that.” He grinned again.

_Oh._ “I understand.” Logan ran his fingers through his hair. What did Roman mean with “like”? Most likely friendship, purely platonic friendship. Not the scenario Logan was imagining. After all, this mess couldn't happen _again_, not now, not ever.

“You don't.” Despite his tone, Roman didn't seem angry, more… sad. “You don't understand, you can't. I'm the only one who was cursed to be like this. And that-”

“Wait. Cursed?” Logan couldn't help but move back. Hopefully Roman wouldn't notice.

“Cursed.” Roman sounded like he was about to cry. Logan didn't have the energy to deal with drunken mood swings. He was about to suggest escorting him back to his room when he spoke up again. “I don't know why, but I always have been. I'm cursed to fall in love with-” He stopped mid-sentence; his eyes widened.

Logan's heart was racing. _What?_ He couldn't quite grasp any of Roman's words; none of them made sense. Everything he understood was bound to a hopeless wish, an unrealistic wish, a desperate one. But it couldn't be. “Roman, I'm not sure I understand-”

Roman leaned forward, grabbing onto Logan's hips before wrapping his arms around his waist. While doing so, he launched himself off Logan's bed, stumbling before leaning on his chest. He kissed Logan's cheek first, nearly missing his mouth. Then his lips found their way onto Logan's and Logan was almost entirely sure his heart stood still.

Roman gently bit down on Logan's lip, making him gasp, then pushed his tongue into his mouth. He tasted like liquor and fancy chocolates and something sweet Logan couldn’t name, but it tasted- felt- amazing. Logan forgot how to think, instinctively grasping the cloth of Roman's white shirt like his life depended on it. 

One of Roman’s arms snaked its way up his back, then his hand dug into Logan's hair. Manicured nails ran over his scalp, making him shiver and a soft moan escape his mouth. Roman's other arm was still around his waist, tight enough that he wouldn't fall over, loose enough that he could escape if he needed to.

Logan didn't want to escape. This felt… incredible. Warm and safe and captivating and _thrilling_ at the same time. Like… like being set on fire, just in a good way. He couldn't even begin to describe what he was feeling, but it was extraordinary in every sense of the word.

Logan couldn't truly believe this was happening. He had found someone like him. He was _kissing_ someone like him. And that someone was the crown prince of England.

Oh God.

Logan pushed Roman away, gasping for air. Roman fell on the bed with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. He let out a quiet whine. “Sorry.” His face was flushed; he, too was out of breath. 

“What? No, don't apologise. I- I don't-” Logan took a deep breath. “I don't mind, in- in theory, but what were you _thinking?”_

Roman stared at the ground. “You wouldn't understand otherwise.” He ruffled up his hair.

God, Roman really was a mess, wasn't he? A drunk, careless, infuriating mess. But even so, he was a work of art. No matter how dishevelled, he remained a masterpiece, even when he was intoxicated, had just kissed Logan (nearly _senseless,_ Logan couldn't remember ever feeling that much at once) and was now looking so adorably pouty that Logan had to fight the desire to kiss him again.

“Well, I think I understand now.” He took his eyeglasses off the table, placing them on the bridge of his nose and pushing them up with his index and middle finger. “But whatever you think will come from-” He made a vague, sweeping movement with his left hand. “-from this, it won't work. It won't work because-” 

Logan took a deep breath. He hated the way he couldn't get his words to flow without preparing them. But he couldn't prepare himself for every situation, so this was something he'd have to work through. “-because we're- we're both men, and men can't be together, not- like _that,_ and even if they- we could, I'll be gone in a week. I have an estate to look after now that my…” His throat closed up. No, Father was _not_ who he wanted to talk about right now. Logan cleared his throat, ignoring how choked up he still sounded. If he kept talking, that would go away, right? “You have to stay here and be the prince and eventually, the king, because no one else will do it for you. You have to marry, Roman, do you understand? You'll have to marry a girl and you can't be- What did you call it?”

“Cursed.” Roman had slung his arms around his knees, curling into a ball. Logan could see a long, thick scar peeking out from under his sleeve. “But it's only a curse because I was alone with it, but if I'm not alone, it's alright!” A warm smile tugged at his lips (Logan could still feel them on his, their warmth, their incredible softness. Roman would make him go insane).

Logan sighed. He was too tired for all these confusing emotions, far, far too tired. “Can we- can we talk about all this tomorrow? We both need to sleep, you need to be sober and I- I just need to think.”

Nodding, Roman uncurled, then stood up, stumbled and was caught by Logan before he could fall. “Oops.” He giggled.

Logan wrapped an arm around Roman's waist, steadying him and carefully leading him towards the door. Roman buried his face in Logan's shoulder. Logan couldn't help but kiss his forehead, burying his nose in Roman's silky, fluffy hair and breathing in his perfume. Roman squeaked and let out another stream of bouncy giggles. “We'll figure something out,” Logan mumbled. “I promise.”

They walked to Roman's chambers, leaning on each other (Roman leaning on Logan more than the other way around), their steps synchronised, their breathing almost the same speed. Logan smiled, glancing down at his companion. Roman had his eyes closed, barely awake enough to lead the way to his chambers, humming a tune Logan didn't recognise. _Charming._

After two flights of stairs and too many corridors to count, they arrived in front of a large, decorated wooden door. Roman took a step back, still holding onto the arm that had been wrapped around his waist a few seconds prior. “I'll see you tomorrow, right?” He gave Logan an insecure smile.

Logan nodded. “You'll be alright?” Roman didn't seem sober (or steady on his feet) enough to make it to bed on his own.

Still, the prince nodded. He stood on his tiptoes, pressing a kiss to a group of freckles on Logan's cheek. “Goodnight, Logan.” He walked towards the door, still unstable but at least capable of standing on his own.

Logan blushed. “Goodnight, Roman.” He got another glimpse of the prince's smile, then he disappeared behind the door and Logan was alone again.


	3. Chapter 3

“So, how was it?” Elisabeth looked up from her bowl of porridge.

Roman groaned and aimed an apple at her head, then decided to bite into it instead.

“That bad?” She raised an eyebrow. “Or did you just drink too much again?”

Closing his eyes (the room was still too bright), Roman nodded. “It was nice,” he mumbled.

“Speak up, idiot.” Elisabeth grinned at him. She glanced around the room, and upon finding it empty besides her and her brother, she gave him a dirty smirk. “Did you end up…” She made a kiss noise.

Roman flushed. He bit into his apple again so he wouldn't have to answer.

Elisabeth gasped. “You _did!_ Up in the tower? What was it like?” She made a face. “Not that I really want to know. Still, I'm happy for you! Sort of. You have to be careful, alright?”

Roman winced as she raised her voice again. “I am careful.” He lowered his voice until he was mumbling again. “We were in his room, and it was…” Everything after Logan left the tower was a blur. “Good. I think.”

Elisabeth nodded. She looked lost in thought, her forehead wrinkling up while she stared at her breakfast. It took a minute or two- long enough for Roman to finish his apple, throw the core at the bin and miss- before she spoke up again. “Listen, Ro, there's- there's something I have to talk about with you.”

Roman saw someone in a blue coat walk past the open door. _Logan!_ He nodded. “Later, alright, Lisa? I have to check on something.”

“Oh.” She nodded as well, staring at her now empty bowl again. “Alright. Later.” She cleared her throat and stood up. “Goodbye, I'll- I'll see you then.”

Roman smiled at her, then rushed out of the room, following after Logan. “Good morning, your Grace!” He grinned at the duke.

Logan jumped, then smiled. “Good morning, your Highness.” He bowed.

Roman took a step back. “Don't do that.” He paused, remembering that he interrupted whatever Logan was trying to do. “Where were you going?”

“I was looking for you.” Logan adjusted his eyeglasses. 

“Well, um, I'm here.” Social interaction was so much easier when Roman was still drunk, at least tipsy, or didn't have a raging headache.

Logan nodded. “And, officially, I'm not supposed to be.” He looked out of the window, then smiled at Roman again. Roman felt his heart flutter. _How could one man be this beautiful?_ “So, what shall we do?”

“We haven't finished the tour of the castle yet, have we?” Roman took a few steps towards the door. “I believe the gardens are next.”

“Correct.” Logan's smile grew as he followed Roman outside.

Roman stepped out of the castle, taking a deep breath. The sun was high enough in the sky that the light made his headache worse. He winced, shielding his eyes. Concerned, Logan glanced at him, the sunlight dancing in his hazel eyes. “Is everything alright?” he asked, carefully gripping Roman's shoulder and turning him away from the sun.

Roman nodded. “Just a headache, all is well.” His face felt warm again. “Let's go!”

Logan nodded. He didn't look very convinced, but still followed behind Roman as he was lead to the rose gardens.

Logan looked around, making sure no one was near them before quietly asking: “How much of yesterday do you remember?”

Roman frowned. “We were in the tower. And you showed me constellations and you were absolutely stunning. That's still pretty clear. Then… I went back to my room, emptied the last of my stash, and I remember kissing you, but I'm not sure if that was a dream or not.” He smiled at his (slightly taller) companion, who seemed to be taking on a rosy tint.

“That wasn't a dream.” Logan cleared his throat. “I'm not entirely sure how you made it to my room- you could barely stand- but that was definitely real.” His hand brushed across his lips.

"Oh." Roman nodded. The reality of the situation was beginning to catch up with him. He had kissed Logan. He had actually, really, honest-to-God _kissed_ Logan and Logan didn't hate him yet.

"I-" Logan said, instantly stopping himself. He shook his head, then began anew. "If this- if we are going to happen…"

"We don't stand a chance." _God, saying it out loud made it a whole lot more real._ Roman smiled sadly. "There's no way for either of us to abandon our positions. Elisabeth can't take over the throne- obviously-" He said that with a slight scoff, which he instantly regretted.

Both of them knew she would've been so much better at ruling. And even though she had never admitted it, Roman knew she wanted to take over the kingdom (from the way she used to ask about his lessons, taking in every last detail of the shaky retellings of classes Roman didn't pay attention to, to how she wanted him to teach her how to sword fight with sticks they dug up from behind the greenhouses when they were still little, to how she even stole his clothes because they "looked better", to how the questions settled, but the yearning look stayed the same, the discomfort with her role that seemed so invisible to everyone but him). She was even _born_ first, for God's sake. But she was still a girl, and she still had her role to fill.

Roman shook his head, clearing away thoughts of his sister and trying to focus on his companion again. "...And you don't have a brother, do you?"

Logan frowned. "No, no siblings. And even if I did have a brother, I've already inherited the estate. My disappearance would be noted."

Roman tilted his head to the side, bouncy curls that refused to stay tucked under wigs of any sort (to his annoyance) falling over his forehead. "Oh, why so soon? You're no older than nineteen, right? Was your father so willing to rid himself of his land?" Logan's face went stone cold, making Roman flinch back. _Wrong question._

"He died. Last year. That's why I'm here, rather than my parents." His voice went dead, his expression bare of any emotion.

"Oh, I…" Roman bit his lip. Why did he always say the wrong thing? Every interaction with Logan so far ended up in a mistake on his side. He really couldn't do _anything_ right. Now Logan would want nothing to do with him and he would be alone with himself and the curse forever. (Father was right, he really was meant to be alone. Someone like him just couldn't love. Why else would he keep destroying whatever fragile bond he had with Logan?) "I'm sorry."

Logan shook his head. "Don't be. There was nothing to be done anyway." His hands were clenched into fists.

Roman took his right, opening it gently and brushing over the crescent marks Logan's nails left. "Is it something you would want to speak about?"

Logan pulled his hand back. "Her Highness is your only sibling as well?"

_Ouch._ "Yes, it's just us. His Majesty had twins and decided he was done with that. Maybe he couldn't bear losing another wife. Either way, I haven't any cousins or uncles or such to whom I could pass the throne, so I'm stuck with it." 

Of course being the king of England wasn't the worst possible fate; his ancestors had left enough room for irresponsibility that Roman could abuse. Then again, in France there had been quite a few beheadings of royals who neglected their people. Who said the commoners here wouldn't carry on that idea as well? (Although him becoming king meant that Father had kicked the bucket, seeing as the old bastard wouldn't give up the crown a day sooner, and he couldn't wait for that time to come.)

"...I see." Logan cleared his throat. "I'm afraid you're correct then, your Highness. We truly don't stand a chance."

Roman nodded, swallowing to clear the lump in his throat. "Maybe- maybe so, but… we still have this week, don't we? The guests are leaving Friday morning." He paused. "We'd better get on with the tour, I don't think I can show you the entire castle in so little time." The hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "You've officially been promoted to my guest of honour, your Grace, and there's so much you must see before leaving to… Gainesville, you said?"

Logan smiled. "Such a great honour, your Highness. I accept." He imitated a small bow before reaching for Roman's hand, their fingers interlacing. A nod confirmed Roman's guess to the town Logan was the duke of. "Near the channel. Few cliffs, few beaches. Cold. Not much to look at."

"I'll have a royal visit arranged." Roman gave Logan's hand a gentle squeeze. "Now, have you eaten yet? There's a nice spot next to the kitchens where I know we'd be unbothered."

Logan huffed out a low laugh. "Please, Roman, lead the way."


	4. Chapter 4

Virgil tucked a loose strand of hair under his cap. He pulled up his collar and gripped his satchel tightly, his gaze wandering from one corner of the narrow alley to the next.

_If he was seen, he was done for._  
Walking past the last wall and into the town, he straightened his back, standing tall despite the anxiety squeezing his insides. But his fear was unwarranted- he was barely noticed among the common folk, all of them too busy with their duties to pick him out of the crowd. 

The corset he had modified pressed against his ribs, making it difficult to keep up his usually brisk speed. Still, it was _working!_ He wanted to break into song (though he knew that wouldn't go to well, since it would not only make it difficult to stay discreet, but also make him faint almost instantly. This corset didn't leave much room to breathe).

Virgil craned his head upwards, struggling to see over the endless carts and booths, trying to locate the house Patton's workshop was in. Where was the road to- There.

He set off over the crosswalk, nearly running into a man pulling a cart filled with cabbages and apples. “Watch it, boy,” the man growled, then kept walking without giving Virgil so much as another glance.

Virgil was starstruck. He felt like he was rooted to the ground, unable to comprehend anything except the smile spreading across his face. _Boy._ His inexplicable need to sing increased tenfold (was he spending too much time with Roman?). 

Feeling twenty pounds lighter, he set off towards Patton's workshop.

Virgil pressed down the handle of the wooden door and stepped inside. Immediately, he was surrounded by the scent of a hundred different herbs and flowers, some dried, most fresh. He inhaled deeply, basking in the familiar smell.

The woman behind the counter near the back of the shop watched him curiously. “Can I help you?”

Virgil cleared his throat. “I was looking for Patton. Is he here?” His voice was too high to keep his cover. Damn.

She smiled at him. “You're Virgil, right? He's been waiting for you.” She stepped to the side, letting Virgil pass through the door behind her.

Virgil's heart skipped a beat at hearing his name (he doubted he would ever get used to that sensation). “Thank you.” He slid behind the counter, then gently pushed open the door.

This part of the house was far darker. Where the shop was flooded with sunshine, all the windows here were shut, letting in just enough light that the silhouettes of the furniture were visible, just enough to keep him from stumbling over the cane leaning in the doorway. “Patton?” Virgil called. He set the cane to the side to prevent others from tripping over it.

“Virgil! In here!” Patton’s voice echoed from the room holding his workshop. “I'd come over, but…” He giggled. Virgil couldn't help a soft grin. There was no need for the sun to shine in here, Patton already brightened up the whole house. He walked into the room (almost hitting the doorframe on his way, maybe _some_ light would've been necessary).

Patton was sitting on the wooden bench in front of his cauldron, bouncing up and down as Virgil came nearer. As soon as he was within his reach, the witch stood up (somewhat shaky on his feet) and wrapped his arms around Virgil, burying his face in his shirt. “How is the prince today?” he asked.

Virgil sat Patton down again. “Careful, sunshine,” he murmured, a content smile tugging at his lips. “I didn't ask. He seemed pretty excited, though, I think he managed to get himself a royal consort.” He rolled his eyes.

Patton scooted to the side, making some room for Virgil to join him on the bench. “I meant the other one. But I'm glad to hear Roman's doing well!”

Virgil blushed. “The other one’s doing better and better, now that he gets to see his favourite person.” He sat down next to Patton, careful not to take up too much of his space. “Roman's doing a bit _too_ well, if you ask me. He's becoming insufferable.” He shook his head, making another strand of hair come loose. “How are you?”

Patton scrunched up his nose. “Still a few issues with my leg. But it's nothing time, care and a few herbs can't mend! That’s what I'm hoping, at least.” He took Virgil's hand, squeezing it lightly.

Virgil intertwined their fingers, pressing his soft palm against Patton's calloused one, smiling at the dirt under his nails and the freckles covering his skin (Virgil had been kept inside too much for any to show on him, kept almost ghostly pale out of fear of a single mark tainting the skin of the princess. Patton, however, was tanned and spotted with thousands of freckles from working out in the sun, which only made him so much more beautiful, as if the sun he had soaked in over the summer was smiling back at him). “You know, I could probably arrange for a doctor to take a look at it.”

Patton shook his head, then leaned against Virgil's shoulder. “That would be great of you, stormcloud, but too risky.” His nose wrinkled again. “You smell like perfume.”

“We had a soirée yesterday, can't help it.” Virgil took his satchel off his shoulder. “My idiot brother left me alone while he went off with the duke of whoknowswhere. I don't think I've ever seen that many ugly outfits in one evening. Including the one I was wearing.” He kissed the top of Patton’s head. “I missed you.” 

Patton’s hair was curly and soft; he smelled like rosemary and soap and something very distinctly Patton. Virgil would've given up everything to just stay like this, curled up next to him while… whatever it was bubbled in the cauldron, where his sex didn't exist (or rather, where he was addressed as the correct one), where neither of their ranks existed, where it was just the two of them and that was enough.

Patton kissed his cheek in response, his soft lips finding the smudged beauty spot Virgil hadn't managed to rub off entirely. “I missed you too, my prince.” He hummed softly. “Now, what have you brought me?”

Virgil opened the satchel, taking out a thin wooden box. He opened it carefully. The nettle inside was bent and broken, the Saint John's wort was probably barely enough to be useful, especially with the amount Patton would need (he was so dumb, why did he only take so little?) and the grapes he snagged from supper were bruised. “Here you go. It's not a lot, but…” Virgil adjusted his cap awkwardly, bracing himself for Patton's disappointment.

Patton didn't seem too disappointed, though. He lit up even more, getting up to place the box on a nearby table. Virgil jumped up with him, steadying Patton before he could fall over. Patton leaned on Virgil with a grateful hum. “It's perfect, angel, don't worry. Honestly, I'm amazed you got this much! Most of my plants didn't survive the frost last week.” He frowned.

"I found some plants behind the greenhouses outside my rooms," Virgil muttered bashfully. "I just had to sneak out and take some. The ground was still soft there." He rubbed his palm absent-mindedly where a nettle burn had made his skin sting and itch. He needed a better pair of gloves for this kind of work.

"Thank you so much!" Patton's eyes crinkled behind his thick seeing glasses as he grinned, taking Virgil's hands in his again, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. The energy Patton was radiating was warmer than the fire crackling under the cauldron and as bubbly as the liquid boiling in it and Virgil couldn't help but smile along. "Really, this'll help a lot- now, let me see…" He mumbled something Virgil couldn't understand, sorting the scraps of flowers, leaves and stalks- and the grapes, of course- into tiny piles.

"What are those for?" Virgil pointed to the Saint John's wort Patton was piling next to the nettle.

"I'll make a poultice of those- they'll help with the burn! Otherwise, they're also good for hysteria and melancholy. I always get some people asking about them in winter." He frowned. "It's too bad so many of mine didn't make it."

"I could try to just bring an entire plant next time. I don't think it'll be missed too much." Virgil thought of the corner of the greenhouse he found the yellow blossoms in- mostly overgrown, barely tended to. The entire corner of the greenhouses was rather overlooked. One of Virgil's teachers had told him that they had been Mother's passion project. It wasn't exactly the most commonly visited part of the castle- tucked away behind the sleeping chambers of the people Father didn't need to impress, but still wanted to seemingly hold in favour (Roman and him). The glass constructs themselves were only accessible through the kitchens, the maze that were the rose gardens and the unseemly manner of climbing out of one's window (or another's, if one was persuaded into such a situation).

"You would?" Patton lit up again, the shine in his eyes only lasting a heartbeat before they were clouded with worry again. "But be careful- that's different than just coming into town with your satchel. If you come from the castle holding a full plant, someone will ask questions." He bit his lip. "And please make sure it's not blamed on the workers? I- a former customer of mine was accused of stealing wine from the kitchen and he-" His voice died.

Virgil took Patton's hands again, lifting the left to his lips to press a kiss to his knuckles- he didn't like seeing Patton like this. "Of course, sunshine. I'll make sure." (The wine stealing had probably been done by Roman. He should probably confront him about that- but what would he even say? 'Hello, brother. During one of my regular meetings with the town witch- to which I go dressed as a boy, by the way- I learned that one of the kitchen workers was accused of stealing wine, a crime I'm almost certain you committed. No, this isn't about me or the witch, let's stay on subject. How dare you steal wine and how dare you let anyone blame the workers or the almost-paid slaves. Why I go there as a boy? Oh, that's a funny story. It's because I'm actually a boy, which you would probably have no idea of. The witch was supposed to help me become a boy, but instead I fell in love with him. At least I _think_ I fell in love with him, because I don't feel the way being in love is usually described by novels and such. It's funny, really. Roman, stop stealing alcohol.')

A smile returned to Patton's face, though it was significantly less wide and sunny than before, which was definitely a tragedy (considering he had just made a declaration of love in his inner monologue). He kissed Virgil's forehead, pulled his cap to the right and turned back to his plants. He took a knife the length of his hand to cut the roots from the nettle plant, then the leaves from the stalks. Each of those were sorted into their own piles. Patton placed the roots in an infuser, snapping it closed and hanging it into the bubbling cauldron. He pulled a piece of string from where it was fastened in a crack in the wall, then wrapped it around a package of nettle leaves. "Tea," he explained as he leaned forward (almost dangerously so, seeing as his left leg was mostly useless and couldn't do much to support him if he fell) to hang it from a hook in the ceiling.

Moving with him (just in case), Virgil hummed. "And what did you do with the roots?"

"Cleaning! And warming them up a bit, makes them easier to be juiced. Doesn't taste nice, but it's worth it. I guess." Patton's nose wrinkled in disgust. "I guess you could try to put some sugar into it when you take it- that might help. Of course I won't be able to help you with that."

"That-" Virgil gestured towards the cauldron, then caught Patton, letting him lean on his shoulder. "That's mine? What does it do?"

"I found a book on this a week or two ago- written by a monk with a situation like yours, but the other way around. Anyway, she wrote down herbs and foods that change the stuff that make your body... the way it is. And nettle roots and grape seeds make the stuff weaker, so I'm trying to find a good combination of those and a good way to get them into you!" Patton started splitting open grapes and taking out the seeds. He inspected half of a deseeded grape, then popped it into his mouth with a smile.

"Oh." Out of a lack of something intelligent to say, Virgil stayed silent (apart from that one syllable). "...Thank you." 

"Anything for you, your Highness." Patton turned to mimic a bow and immediately stumbled, yelping as his bad leg hit a corner.

Virgil caught him before his forehead could hit the rim of the cauldron. "Careful, Pat, _please._" Turning so Patton could lean on his chest, he sat him down again. Patton stretched out his leg with a wince, pulling up his trousers to see if any extra damage had been done to the wound.

Virgil almost flinched back when he saw the burnt and scarred skin. He forced himself to stay still, his right hand travelling upwards to comb through Patton's short curls in what he hoped was a soothing motion. _God,_ that looked painful. "The Saint John's wort is supposed to help with that, right?" he asked hesitantly.

"I sure hope so." Patton poked and pulled at the skin with three fingers, a soft smile reappearing when the skin didn't break. He sighed. "It's not getting better," he muttered.

"Oh." Virgil frowned. "I'm sorry, sunshine. That you have to deal with that. And that I can't get a doctor to help you, or at least a few more herbs-"

"Don't apologise, Virgil." Patton pulled the trouser leg back down, turning so he could sit next to him again. "None of this is your fault. You're doing all you can." He kissed Virgil's jaw.

Virgil smiled, softening at the gesture, then jumped when the clock tower struck twelve. "I have to go, sorry-" God, he couldn't be late _again._

"Don't worry, love!" Patton moved to the side, handing him the box he had transported the plants in. "Just one more thing-" Leaning on the table in front of him, he stood up. His hand closed around a small bottle, which he quickly filled with the nettle roots that had been sitting in the cauldron. He shook the bottle, then watched as its contents melted into an amber liquid. "This is probably pretty gross, but it should help."

Virgil took the bottle, staring at the liquid for a few seconds before dropping it into his satchel. "Thank you, Pat. I-" He frowned, the reality of their parting suddenly so much closer. "I'll miss you."

"Good luck, my prince." Patton kissed him one last time, then Virgil left the room, nodding towards the woman that was currently reorganizing small tablets of tea. He pushed open the wooden door, then, with another look back, he left Patton's shop.

Virgil spent the walk back to the castle avoiding carriages and carts and buying a load of apples and two loaves of bread from a passing salesman with the smallest piece of currency he could find in his pockets (judging by the man's incredulous stare, it was still far too much). He slipped past the castle walls, leaving the food in the kitchen where he knew the workers could take and eat it (his donation shouldn't be mistaken for a delivery for whatever supper today should be).

He turned into a narrow hallway after a turn to make sure no one was watching him, then set off towards the library, where his regular clothes were hidden in a secret room he had discovered while skipping classes some years ago.

Still caught in the memories from his meeting with Patton and the contentment of having done something good, he hadn't noticed a person nearing him until he crashed headfirst into them.

A look up revealed Roman, who was gaping at him, his jaw dropped.

_"Lisa?"_


	5. Chapter 5

_ "Lisa?" _

Roman's face was still warm from the goodbye kiss Logan pressed to his cheek, his thoughts swimming, lost in the happy memories of his meeting with the handsome duke mere minutes ago (but though only minutes had passed, to his heart it felt like multiple decades were between their last kiss and his collision). He was going to scoff at the servant he had bumped into, until the person ended up not being a servant after all, but rather his sister in peasant's clothes.  _ Male _ peasant's clothes.

"Ro, I can explain-" Elisabeth looked up, making eye contact for a split second before glancing down again, clutching a satchel to her chest as if her life depended on it.  _ (Where had she been?) _

She looked around anxiously, as if anyone could've suddenly materialised on the staircase without either of them noticing. "...I can explain, but not here. Come on."

Roman raised an eyebrow- well,  _ this _ should be interesting, seeing as it required a hidden location to discuss. Still, he followed her into an empty room at the top of the stairs. Empty aside from a pile of brown clothes in the corner and a petticoat hung from the ceiling with a few brightly coloured skirts.

"First of all-" Lisa shut the door behind him with more force than was necessary (or appropriate). "You cannot tell  _ anyone _ about this. Especially not Father." She glared at him. "Or the man you seemed to have picked up."

"Alright, alright, my lips are sealed." Roman held up his hands defensively, an amused smile on his face. What was so terrible about his sister's little cross-dressing party that it had to be kept top secret?

Elisabeth took a deep breath, looking down in what Roman assumed was shame before she blurted out: "I'm not a girl."

_ "What?" _ Well, this was a lot more interesting than Roman had expected. "But you…" He glanced down at her chest that was  _ definitely _ there yesterday.

She crossed her arms over the spot he was staring at. "I know. I-" She sighed, and it sounded like the act carried an entire lifetime of secrets into the open, taking them off her (metaphorical) chest. " I'm a boy. No, a  _ man. _ I always have been, but my body doesn't look it, so back in April I went to see a witch for it and-"

_ "Wait. _ Wait wait wait wait wait." Roman held up his hands to cut Lisa off. "So you're saying… you're my brother?"

She- No,  _ he _ nodded, a tiny smile appearing on his lips (the first one Roman had seen in years that was neither sarcastic nor forced). "It's… My name's Virgil now."

"Oh. That's- Virgil, that's amazing!" The name still sounded foreign on his tongue, but Roman was sure that would change after he'd used it a few times. He grinned at his brother, then the expression faded and made room for an uncertain frown. "But how did that happen? I mean, that you're…"

"I don't know. I wish I knew, but from what I can tell, it's always been like this. Turns out we all have our curse to bear." He offered another soft smile, which Roman returned. 

"And what was that with the witch?" Roman fidgeted with his sleeves. He didn't like the idea of his sister- brother- going into town alone to seek out some witch.

"Oh, he didn't end up knowing the answer. Not in that way, at least. But he's been helping me in finding others with a similar curse and doing things to make me as little of a woman as I can be. I don't really understand it either." The way Virgil spoke of his curse- or his version of whatever had cursed both of them- was so much more free than Roman could even think of his. (But then again, Roman was a sinner and Virgil was just… different.)

"The witch is a he? Is he…" Roman trailed off, unsure how to complete his thought.

"No, he's normal, I guess. If anything, his curse is more like yours."

"Oh." Roman nodded. "Are you two…"

"We're- sort of. We're not like you and his Grace-" Virgil paused to roll his eyes, and in that moment Roman could see Elisabeth- or who he thought to be Elisabeth- again. Virgil really wasn't such a large difference. "But we're in a relationship of some sort. Not- not a romantic one, but close?" He groaned. "I don't know a lot about this- but I'm definitely male and I definitely love Patton." Judging by the look in his eyes, that was the first time Virgil had ever admitted that to anyone. Roman couldn't imagine what that must feel like- to love someone for so long, but not being able to tell anyone (he was a bit offended that Virgil hadn't told him any of these things when he found out, but he could look past that for now).

"So, if you're a man…" Roman made a flimsy gesture, hoping Virgil would guess what he was trying to say. When he didn't, Roman continued awkwardly. "Does that mean you can take over the throne? You are Father's oldest son, after all."

Virgil let out a low, hollow laugh. "For that to happen, I'd have to tell Father so he can put it in his will. And no offence, but we all saw how well past queer confessions went-" She- he gestured towards Roman's arm, which he hid with a grimace. "I'm not risking that."

“Fair enough,” Roman grumbled, rubbing over the fading bruise. “But- it is your right, isn’t it? You’re the next in line, you want the throne- Do you want the throne?” Virgil answered with a quick nod, which Roman returned before continuing his rant. “You  _ deserve _ the throne. Especially since I don’t want it. God, this would be so much easier if none of us were cursed-” He ran out of things to say, so he ended his rather short monologue there.

"Roman, it'll be okay. We'll- we'll think of something, you'll see." Virgil sighed. "You can tell the duke. But- please make sure he won't tell anyone else? Please."

"His name's Logan," Roman corrected. "But- yes, I'll be careful. Thank you, Virgil."

He turned around to leave the small room, his hand on the doorknob, when Virgil grabbed his arm. "Wait," he said, turning pink. "I- I need to change again, can you help me with my corset? It's impossible to lace alone."

"Oh, uh- sure?" Roman stared at the thing in the corner.  _ God, _ that looked complicated. How did women (and Virgil) manage to be in that all day? "What should I do?"

"Well, first of all, turn around," she- he snapped. "I'm not in it yet."

"Oh, right, sorry." Roman turned around to stare at the door again- rather plain for one of the castle doors. It was painted a faded blue, the other side of the door closer resembling the rest of the palace than this cupboard. The doorknob was made of brass, he assumed, with a design carved into it- almost like a rose just before full boom, and it- oh, it was reflective. Time to stare at the wood again.

He wondered what Logan was doing- did he have any duties while he was here? Possibly. Roman would have to ask him about that. He wondered if the duke danced (a fantasy that was well worth entertaining). Of course it would be hard to find a ballroom where they wouldn't be bothered, and an orchestra that wouldn't snitch. Maybe they'd just have to work with their imagination on that one.

"Alright, you can turn around again." Virgil stood with his back turned to Roman. "Take the two strings and pull; I'll tell you when to stop."

"Got it. Take them and pull." Roman grasped the strings coming from the corset, giving them a light tug. "Like this?"

"Harder," Virgil grunted. "Otherwise it won't hold its shape."

Roman pulled a bit harder, giving Virgil a worried glance. When his brother didn't object yet, he tugged with even more force. Virgil let out a dry wheeze, making Roman drop the strings. "Sorry! Are you alright?"

"I'm  _ fine. _ Keep going." Virgil gritted out. "I'll tell you when."

Roman did as he was told, pausing when Virgil raised his hand. "Great. Now tie some kind of knot- it doesn't have to be fancy or anything."

Roman nodded.  _ Loop, loop, around, pull tight, repeat. _ "There- that should last."

Virgil nodded, straightening his back, then pulling up the rest of his dress. "Let's go- and remember,  _ only _ tell Logan, if you must."

"Of course." Roman opened the door, letting his brother pass through first. "But- Virgil?"

"Yes?" He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest (Roman couldn't tell if it was a gesture of annoyance or self-consciousness).

Roman smiled with all the warmth he could manage. "Thanks for telling me." He glanced around the hallway. "And if you need any help with getting ready for your meetings, or- or anything, you know where to find me."

Virgil snorted. "I absolutely do not. You're never in the same place twice, especially when I'm looking for you. If I didn't know better, I'd say it's witchcraft." He returned Roman's smile with a small nod. "But I'll let you know."

Roman grinned, then bowed deeply, almost theatrically. "So long, my dearest brother!" He rose again, spinning around in an exaggerated twirl for good measure.

Virgil grinned back, his tongue sticking out from between his teeth in the same way it had always done. "So long, clot."


	6. Chapter 6

Roman danced through the palace halls, twirling around misplaced chandeliers and halting inches before running into random guests (most of whom were less than enthusiastic about having the crown prince a hand's length away from their faces, but also too low-ranking to protest it). He peeked into random rooms, hoping to find Logan in one of them.

Throughout thirty-seven rooms and four hallways, his most entertaining find had been the duke of some colony entangled with a woman who (and he didn't need Virgil to tell him this) definitely was not his wife. But this wasn't the first time Roman had witnessed adultery during longer visits, and it certainly wasn't the most interesting affair so far.

Logan had said he was meeting up with one of Father's advisors, correct? So he had to be in one of the studies. ( Roman only stopped for a split second to think it may be unwise to interrupt such a meeting \- he was far too enthusiastic about the good news to care, though.) Roman stuck his head through another door and immediately stopped in his tracks.

"...unsuited for the crown," said an all too familiar voice. King Roman IV leaned back in his chair, tossing a small glass ball between his hands. "If I simply disown him, the public may be displeased. There's a Scottish duke I could set up as the next in line- he's not as uncivilized as the other bastard Scotsmen. He could be wed to Elisabeth in that case. I'd only have to dispose of Roman first…" With those words, the king stared straight at the door Roman was hiding behind.

Roman turned away with a jolt. Pearls of sweat gathered on his ashen face while his pulse raced along with his thoughts.

_ Father was planning to kill him. He would be disposed of and Elisabeth- no, Virgil- would be married to some duke who would become the king in his place and Roman would be murdered- _

Roman couldn't breathe. The air he inhaled barely touched his lungs, each breath shallow and short-lived. What should he do? Who could he tell? What if- what if that with Logan wasn't real, but a scheme to accuse him of sodomy and have him hanged? He couldn't tell- he couldn't trust anyone. He couldn't tell anyone what he overheard.

He was all alone again, with a terrible secret no one could know.

_ No. _ He wouldn't do this again- it didn't matter who found out that he knew, he'd be dead either way. Better have one or two people he could pretend to trust with him.

But was that worth it?

It had to be. If he tried to hide from Father's plans for whatever was left of his life, he would spend those… days, weeks, months, years (who knew?) miserable, probably locked up somewhere by himself, without Logan or Virgil or even someone to get him a proper drink.

Speaking of, he could use some brandy.

So that would be step one; he had to get to the kitchen and get… not piss-drunk, but at least tipsy enough to deal with this. Step two would be finding the best way to stay alive.

"Of course not, your Majesty," said a voice next to the door, making Roman jump. Quick, he had to run before he was discovered- there. Just as the door opened and a man Roman vaguely recognised to be one of Father's ministers stepped through it, he slid around the corner, dashing up the staircase leading to the west wing three steps at a time.

Arrived at the top, Roman was breathing heavily, his hands propped up on his knees (he really needed to be more active- this was getting embarrassing).  _ Now what? _

He could go back to trying to find Logan, but who knew if that would help or not. Who knew what Logan's real intentions were?

_ No _ . No, he couldn't afford to mistrust the two people who were (most likely) on his side; it would only make matters worse. He had to stay calm- if Father suspected something, it would only make the process quicker.

Roman slumped to the floor, the despair suddenly making it rather difficult to stay upright. He hid his face in his arms.

_ He didn't want to die. _ Not now, when he finally found someone like him, someone worth living for. It wasn't fair.

How could Father hate him this much? Granted, he wasn't the most obedient son- he had messed up enough that he could understand the occasional beating (those he did deserve- most things that went wrong here were his fault, after all, since the very beginning). But he was almost sure he didn't deserve being assassinated. That was taking it one or two or ten steps too far.

But maybe he would stop if Roman ran away. If he left- with or without Logan, taking just enough from the palace to have a comfortable life- maybe it would turn out alright. Virgil would have to marry that duke- but he would still be in a powerful position, at least sort of. Right?

Did Mother have any responsibilities aside from organising parties? Roman had to think for a moment, but even after that moment had passed, his list of responsibilities, duties and influences was as short as before. Well, at least women were more studied in literature and such. They got a better education (if you didn’t count the hunting, politics and fighting lessons Roman had to endure)- but that education ended when they were married off.

It wasn’t fair. This wasn’t  _ fair- _ yes, he was a horrible heir, but that didn’t mean he deserved to die for it.

(Though in the back of his head, the tiniest seed of doubt had begun to settle: What if he  _ did _ deserve this? It couldn’t be any more obvious that Father hadn’t wanted children- the only reason Roman even existed was to secure the fate of the kingdom. But he couldn’t even do that right. In fact, he did it badly enough that Father was planning his assassination, rather than just letting him try. In all the years he should’ve been preparing to become his Royal Majesty, Roman the Fifth, he hadn’t once gotten an order to command, an event to plan, an advisor. The most important thing he had ever been in charge of was a hunting trip, and even that was rather mediocre in the turnout. He didn’t know how he hadn’t seen this coming. Father seemed to have given up on him years ago.)

Roman shook his head in an attempt to clear it of the thoughts swirling through his mind. He had to do something, go somewhere, talk to someone before his thoughts could eat him alive and he could die sooner than he was already going to.

_ Logan. _ He had been looking for Logan before- he was comforting enough, and he deserved to know about the new situation (the tiny voice in Roman’s head insisted that he already knew, that he was a part of all this. Roman ignored it). If he could just find Logan, it could all be alright.

It would be alright.

Roman stood up. He had to hold onto the wall for a heartbeat (a regular one- not his own, which was still drumming rapidly in his head, making him feel like he had just run a mile) to not immediately topple over again; his knees were far too shaky to hold him upright without some assistance. He took a deep breath, then a step forward. Then another one. If he could just make it to Logan’s room (East wing, Chrysanthemum), the duke would turn up soon enough.

With every slow, unsteady step, Roman repeated a single thought to himself, first in his head, then under his breath, no more than a tiny mutter:  _ It would be alright. It would be alright. It would be alright. _

It would be alright.

Eventually.


	7. Chapter 7

Logan left the conference room with a spring in his step, his chest filled with bubbly excitement from receiving praise for his newest idea- and from the minister of finance, of all people! The smaller regions (similar to the one he ruled) would get better roads, higher funding and (this was especially important along the Scottish border and the Channel) better defence. He couldn’t wait to see his ideas and thoughts transferred into reality- and he could hardly believe it was going to happen this soon! So far, this trip had been an incredible success. Oh, he couldn’t wait to tell Roman about this- it would make everything so much easier! Granted, they still wouldn’t be able to live together, but Logan could visit much more frequently. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was as close as Logan could see it getting.

He wound himself through a maze of ornate hallways, taking time to admire the paintings lining the walls. Many names he only recognized from history books, such as a century-old portrait of Henry VIII with his sixth wife. No matter how hated the king of excess had been amongst the public, judging by the way his memory was preserved and carefully tended to the other royals didn’t seem to mind him too greatly.

Three portraits next to each other displayed nearly identical men with varying hairstyles and clothing- each of them almost perfectly resembled the current king. Roman looked quite a lot like them too, now that he thought about it. But despite the obvious family similarities, his prince was missing the age that had clearly worn his ancestors, no matter how many creative liberties the artist took. Logan smiled at them and kept walking.

At the end of the hallway, near the turn, he stumbled upon a painting of two identical babies, clad in white-laced robes and staring at each other with sky blue eyes that almost seemed too big for their round faces. The painting was still new, no more than twenty years old- in comparison to the older ones it was almost stunningly bright and colourful. Logan glanced at the bottom of the frame, hoping for a hint to who these children were- and immediately, a wide grin spread over his face.

_ Roman V and Elisabeth at play _

So that was what Roman looked like as an infant.  _ Adorable _ . Logan left his path, wandering around the corner, hoping to find more paintings of Roman’s childhood.

He didn’t have to search for long- the next painting he saw was of a boy that was unmistakably Roman, down to his curly hair and the tiny dimples he tried to hide as he stared straight ahead, more serious than any ten-year-old boy should look. His father’s hand rested on his shoulder- no,  _ rested _ wasn’t quite the word; the king’s grip was rather tight, the fabric of Roman’s coat pulling away from the grasp in a way Roman looked like he very much wanted to follow. Logan moved on quickly.

He found himself in front of a more recent portrait about five paintings further, and ended up staring for a bit longer than necessary. The golden frame was at least half of Logan's height, though Roman was only shown down to his shoulders. Every last detail was perfectly portrayed, from his round, rose-tinted cheeks (the same that Logan had kissed hours prior) to the sparkle his chocolate brown eyes never seemed to lose. The only off-putting thing about it was the wig covering Roman's hair. It looked well-made, no doubt about it, but also as if it was forcibly aging him. Come to think of it, Roman hadn't been wearing a wig last night either. Logan decided he liked Roman more without it. He gave the portrait a hidden smile he refused to describe as "lovestruck", then continued walking in the same direction.

He had barely looked away when he saw someone an arm's length away from him- Logan turned to look the man in the eyes and quickly found himself staring at the king.  _ Fuck. _

"Your Majesty!" Logan yelped, sinking into a deep bow.

When he rose, the king's face was twisted into a cold smile- there was no doubt that this was the same man from Roman's childhood picture. "Duke of Gainesville." He nodded at Logan. "Have you been enjoying your stay so far?"

Logan nodded, perhaps too quickly. "Very much, your Majesty. His Highness has taken it upon himself to show me the palace- it's very impressive."

The king raised an eyebrow. "So he has. I hope Roman hasn't been a bother." His voice was entirely deadpan and distant in a way that made Logan feel as if he had fallen into a frozen river.

"No, your Majesty- his Highness has been nothing but kind. I'm very grateful to have his guidance." Logan cleared his throat softly. He couldn't help but be wary around the king- not just because of his rank, which was well above Logan's, but also because the possessive way he had held onto Roman's shoulder still wouldn't leave Logan's mind. There was something wrong.

The king nodded slowly. "I was very sorry to hear of the loss of your parents. Was your coronation successful?" It wasn't that Logan cared much for sentiment- in fact, he was usually quite relieved when people skipped the pity act when speaking of his parents. But the cool, almost smug way the king spoke made Logan suspect he wasn’t near as sorry as he claimed.

“Very much so, your Majesty. Thank you.” Logan bowed again.

When he rose, the king’s expression had shifted from his icy smile to looking like he had stepped in something nasty, then back again within a heartbeat. “Enjoy the rest of your stay, Sir,” he said, then walked off without giving Logan a chance to respond.

“Thank you,” Logan muttered before turning around to return to his room, unable to shake the feeling of unnaturally cold brown eyes staring him down until he was three corners away.

* * *

Roman jumped up when Logan turned around the final corner, his hair a mess and his eyes wide. " _ Logan! _ " he called, immediately wrapping him in a tight hug.

Logan tensed, lightly patting Roman's back. "Roman- is something wrong?" He tilted Roman's head upwards ever so lightly, biting his lip when he saw tears forming in the prince's eyes (they were so incredibly warm compared to his father's- no matter how similar they looked, Roman was comforting and lively where his Majesty was sharp and cold). "What happened?"

Roman looked around, his arms tightening around Logan's waist. "...Not here," he gestured to Logan's door. Logan nodded, unlocking it one-handedly- the other was still holding onto the prince- then pulled him inside.

Roman pulled him onto the bed with a sigh, laying his head on Logan's chest, falling silent.

Logan wasn't used to Roman being silent. He wasn't one to stay still and be in the moment, he was always bubbling over with energy and excitement and passion, with a million stories to tell about everything he could think of (at least since Logan had known him- it felt strange when he thought that it had only been a few days, unbelievable, almost). This was… unexpected. "Roman?" Logan asked hesitantly. "What's wrong?"

Roman shook his head, sighed and mumbled: "I don't want you to go."

"That's what you're so worked up about?" Logan trailed his hand over Roman's arm lazily, thinking of something comforting to say. "...I'd prefer to stay with you too. But- we discussed this in the conference earlier- improvements will be made in infrastructure and security, which means there will be more chances to visit. We won't be apart for long."

Roman shook his head again, his hand tightening to a fist around the hem of Logan's coat. "I won't be here soon." His voice was choked-off and trembling, and Logan's heart squeezed painfully.

"You won't… be here?" Logan vaguely gestured into the room, one eyebrow raised. What on earth did Roman mean? The crown prince didn't usually leave the palace, at least not for long- and definitely didn't cry about whatever trip outside he might have to go on. 

"I'll be kil- disposed of, and- and Virgil will be married off to some duke and he'll take my place and-"

"Wait." Logan interrupted Roman's explanation, which had dissolved into formless rambling rather quickly. "'Virgil'?" Did Roman have another sibling after all? Why didn't he come up before?

"Elisabeth," Roman explained, almost annoyed at the interruption. "She's a boy now, and he'll be wed to that duke and since Father can't have  _ me _ around for that he'll-"

Logan stared at Roman blankly, barely following, attempting to process any of the words Roman was blurting out.

' _ Disposed of _ ' _ . _ Surely Roman didn’t mean- no, he  _ couldn't _ mean that. Logan felt like he had just swallowed a rather large and jagged stone. "Roman," he croaked, "he won't  _ kill _ you, will he?"

Roman nodded, sitting up again. "He'll have me accused of sodomy and then hanged; he'll send me into a war he knows I can't win; he'll have me assassinated and make it look like a suicide; he'll-"

" _ No _ ," Logan cut him off. "He won't because I won't let that happen. Even if I have to kill him myself." He pushed himself into an upright position. The back of his head met the wall behind him with a soft 'thump'. What could he do, what could he possibly do to fix this? "...Run away with me."

"What?" Roman snapped up.

Logan wasn't sure if the look on his face was surprise or horror, so he repeated: "Run away with me. On Friday, when my carriage leaves, come with me and I can hide you. My palace is nothing compared to what you're used to, but…" He gestured as he spoke. "We can arrange it over the next few days. We need to find a coachman to bribe, and we need to decide what will happen to- Virgil, was it?- when you leave. But that all should be manageable."

Roman's eyes shone with pooled-up tears. "You'd do that?"

"Of course." Logan frowned. He had begun talking up a storm, falling deeper and deeper into the systemics of planning, but hadn't even considered Roman might have difficulties accepting his offer. "I don't want to leave you, remember? And I don't have to- just come with me."

He could practically hear the thoughts swirling through Roman's mind. And he understood the hesitation: His estate was quite different. Not entirely removed from Roman's lifestyle, but at home there were no east towers with a beautiful view of the stars (though he did have a bit of an astronomy laboratory set up in the attic), there were no endless gardens, no large soirées with guests from all over the country and beyond. Hell, Logan was lucky to even be invited to festivities- Gainesville wasn't exactly the cultural centre of the modern world. Roman would be leaving behind his home, his family, his seemingly unlimited amount of servants and his opportunity to rule the country. (Considering recent events, that opportunity seemed somewhat limited, but it was still more than enough of a chance.)

"...I'll think about it, okay?" Roman took Logan's hand, giving him a tiny smile. "I'll talk to Elisabeth- I mean, Virgil. I'll talk to Virgil about it."

"Of course." Logan nodded. He brushed his thumb over the back of Roman's hand. "Would you like to find him now, or-"

"I want to stay here," Roman interrupted him. "If I may." He softened his first sentence with a smile, clearing his throat of the built-up tears. "I don't want to leave you just yet."

Logan gave him another nod, leaning back again. He patted the space between him and the wall.

Luckily, Roman understood his gesture without him having to explain it- he slid next to Logan, resting his head on his shoulder with a sigh. His arm wrapped around Logan's waist as Logan reached to play with Roman's hair.

They stayed there, letting minutes and hours pass away with silent cuddling at first, then shaky conversations about the world, about life and chance and missed opportunities and futures that may or may not come.

Roman talked about Virgil, about how they played pretend as children and Virgil always, always wanted to be a boy. How Roman should've realised earlier. He spoke of dreams and wishes and how he never had wanted to be king, not really (Virgil had always been better suited for the role). How, now that Virgil was Virgil, he didn't have to- but even that was taken from them.

Logan spoke of his parents. Hesitantly at first, out of… Respect? Fear? He didn't know. But he spoke of them, how he hadn't heard from them for a month before the report came- their ship had sunk, no survivors. Nothing to bury.

(He had to stop speaking for a minute or two at that point.)

He started again, speaking of his childhood, of years of learning without a goal or end point in sight. He told Roman that he rarely left the estate. It felt so empty, so alone, but it was familiar, and familiarity was all he had left at this point.

Roman asked why Logan didn't speak with the people in the village, and Logan answered (after some consideration) that he hadn't thought of that. He wasn't sure if he would be accepted there.

Roman pulled him closer, burying his face in the crook of Logan's neck. He promised that they would go and talk to every last soul in the village until they were all the best of friends. That their life together would be perfect.

And Logan couldn't help but believe him.


End file.
